


Some Port of Rest

by Zinneth (Zoya_Zalan)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ardor in August 2017, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Mild Angst, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 20:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11882514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya_Zalan/pseuds/Zinneth
Summary: When lust leads to something wonderful and profound.





	Some Port of Rest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Angelstar3999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelstar3999/gifts).



> This story is my response to the following Ardor in August prompt:
> 
> *****  
>  **The HIGHEST rating I would like to RECEIVE is** : R -- Mature content, NC-17 -- Explicit content
> 
> **I would like to RECEIVE a story with the following character(s)/pairing** : Elrond/Melpomean
> 
> **I would like my story to INCLUDE these elements** : bottom Melpomean, some plot, happy ending
> 
> **I DO NOT WANT these elements in my story** : death, rape  
> *****
> 
> Many thanks to Ignoblebard and Carol for their insightful comments and suggestions. Any mistakes in the final draft are mine alone.

_And we, who have learned greatness from you, we,_  
_Your lovers, with a still, contented mind,_  
_See you well anchored in some port of rest._

~ Robert Louis Stevenson

~ * ~ * ~

It all started with a kiss. One I was unquestionably not meant to see... A single moment, indelibly etched into my memory — powerful enough to make my body ache with a longing that had, until then, remained subdued beneath my love of lore. Thus began The Torment of Melpomaen, a fitting title for the most wretched of self-inflicted punishments: desiring what cannot be had.

Sighing, I paused in my task for the hundredth time, watching as the ink at the very tip of my quill began to pool into a tiny drop that threatened to ruin the manuscript of Gil-Galad’s _Treatise on Diplomatic Negotiations_ that I had already spent far too long trying to transcribe. When would I finally see reason and end this foolishness? I was but a lowly scribe, one amongst many tasked with maintaining Imladris’s great library. Lusting after our wise and fearless leader, Lord Elrond Half-elven, is most improper for one of my station. Well, lusting after Lord Elrond is most improper for anyone, really... with a few exceptions.

Such as Erestor.

Railing against that provocative train of thought, I dropped my quill back into the inkwell and closed my eyes, scrubbing at my face in a vain attempt to repress the vision that had haunted me for weeks...

_Lord Elrond and Erestor, tucked away in a far corner of the library, conversing in whispers too hushed for me to hear. A pause, in which both slowly trained their gazes upon each other..._

_“You are incorrigible,” Erestor suddenly murmured to him in a blatantly amused tone. Erestor, our esteemed but taciturn Lore Master, amused?!_

_Lord Elrond’s gaze intensified, eyebrows rising in challenge while the barest hint of a smile tickled the corners of his mouth. He took a step forward, invading Erestor’s personal space, and reached up to gently pull the other’s face closer... closer... until their lips finally crushed together in an explosive moment of raw passion that forced the scroll in Erestor’s hand to simply slip away, falling to the floor with a soft thump..._

I took a deep breath, trying to quell the sudden and very overwhelming surge of arousal that always accompanied that memory. I had this particular scriptorium to myself, but it was not private; anyone might appear at random. Oh, curse the heat of Laer, forcing me to wear such light, thin robes!

Sliding off my stool, I crossed to the open windows, grateful for the light breeze I found there. Imladris’s largest of waterfalls roared just a short distance away, a sound ever-present in the ears and hearts of this refuge’s inhabitants. Watching the sparkling veils of water tumble to the Bruinen below calmed me, though my thoughts continued to linger on the object of my desire. The look I’d seen in Lord Elrond’s eyes that day had so completely redefined my perception of him that there was simply no going back. The glint of playful humor... the brazenness... the desire! I couldn’t have imagined such things simmered beneath his normally wise and gentle demeanor.

Curiosity piqued, I’d found myself keenly aware of both their presences from that moment onward. I’d watched and listened as I could, studying every word, gesture, and look shared between them. I’d been stunned to discover the two of them interacted quite normally, with barely any hint at all of the sexual tension to which I’d been witness. If one looked closely enough, however, there were subtle clues — a distinct familiarity and warmth that could so easily be mistaken for friendship forged through the Ages. A small, affectionate smile here, a light but unnecessary touch there... Lord Elrond and Erestor had known each other intimately for a very long time.

That revelation had made my heart clench with envy, a wholly new emotion, and one so loathsome that it inspired within me a wellspring of shame. I’d spent days caught in a maddening whirlwind of lust warring with remorse, the unhealthy combination negatively affecting every aspect of my life. I’m not quite sure where that dark spiral would have taken me had I not discovered — again, quite by accident — that Lord Elrond’s sensual attentions were apparently not exclusive to Erestor...

The unmitigated _leer_ I’d seen Glorfindel toss in Lord Elrond’s direction one day shortly thereafter had stolen the very breath from my lungs... right along with the lord’s rebuke, a playful finger shake delivered with an equally astonishing grin. I might have believed my mind was conjuring the scene before me, a serious misinterpretation of events, had Glorfindel not hauled off and slapped Lord Elrond’s bum as he’d turned to leave. Such impertinence should have earned the Captain of Imladris’s Guard a harsh reprimand at the very least. Instead, there’d been laughter... from both of them.

I remember leaving the stables that day literally shaking with emotion. I’d been sent on a genuine errand to find Lord Elrond and deliver a missive from Erestor. Had I not chosen to tarry afterwards — indeed, to lurk in the shadows out of obsessive fascination — I would never have known what I now know. Privileged few have access to the lord’s ear; fewer still are bestowed the honor of his friendship... and of those, only two, it seems, have been granted the unprecedented gift of his affection.

And I, a lowly scribe who has deeply admired and respected Lord Elrond for the entirety of my life, ardently wished I could be counted amongst them.

The sound of someone clearing his throat jolted me from my thoughts. I whirled, only to be pinned by Erestor’s dark gaze. A whole new level of shame engulfed me as he approached. He came to a stop beside my scribe’s stand, to which he gave a brief, disapproving glance. Erestor had once praised my efficiency and attention to detail, even choosing me to fill his role as Lore Master and Seneschal to Lord Elrond during a lengthy absence the previous year. I’d never failed to complete my assigned tasks in a timely manner, never failed to meet his or anyone else’s expectations in any way... until now. If I judged the look in his eyes correctly, my impeccable record had just been summarily expunged.

Before I could offer yet another clumsy explanation for not already having finished transcribing Gil-Galad’s text, Erestor spoke, his voice devoid of any inflection. “Lord Elrond has requested your presence in his study.”

My body went instantly numb from shock and humiliation. Was my lapse truly severe enough to warrant a reprimand from the lord himself? As though enduring Erestor’s disappointment weren’t bad enough...

“It would be best not to keep him waiting,” he added, his scowl deepening.

Not knowing what else to say, I simply whispered, “Of course,” before fleeing the scriptorium.

I found myself blinking back a wash of emotion as I made my way through the stacks. I’d allowed this ridiculous obsession with Lord Elrond to rip my priorities to shreds, leaving nothing but failure in its wake. Lord Elrond’s personal life was none of my business, and fantasizing about that which will never be is a fruitless endeavor. Perhaps it was best that this issue came to the fore, else I might have wallowed forever in such an unhealthy state.

Gathering what little was left of my dignity, I knocked on the door to the lord’s study, waiting politely until I heard his bid to enter. I found Lord Elrond staring out the window, the brightness of the day bathing him in an almost ethereal glow. He looked radiant... and very lordly. I forbade my mind to reach further, to acknowledge all other applicable — and wholly dangerous — descriptions. Henceforth, he was simply Lord Elrond, the one to whom I was naught but a devoted servant.

He turned to look at me then, those wise and gentle grey eyes as perceptive as ever. “Melpomaen.”

“Reporting as requested, my lord.” I felt light-headed, a sickly combination of bile and dread churning in my gut.

Lord Elrond’s brows furrowed as he stepped closer to me. He tilted his head slightly, scrutinizing. Surely he could sense my unease, read the depth of my regret in my posture alone.  As he tended towards brevity when issuing mandates, I expected him to deliver a quick, sharp reprimand before sending me back to Erestor... who would undoubtedly deliver a sharper and much longer lecture on the responsibilities of a scrivener under his supervision. Instead, Lord Elrond perched himself on the edge of his desk, hands clasped together loosely. He looked suspiciously relaxed.

“Trust,” he finally said, drawing the word out for emphasis. “’Tis a delicate concept, one requiring absolute faith in another.”

My gaze fell to the rug beneath my feet. Apparently he intended to draw this out, to make this dutiful reminder a painful one. Swallowing hard, I braced myself further.

“While you served temporarily as my seneschal, I grew to trust you as implicitly as I do Erestor. You were one I felt I could confide in, even on the most sensitive of subjects. Indeed, I was quite inclined to call you friend.”

Blinking in surprise, I risked a glance at Lord Elrond. His expression held none of the displeasure I’d anticipated from this meeting — quite the opposite, really. I watched as he stood, the slight curl of his lips suggesting a smile was poised to emerge. My confusion only deepened at that. What was he waiting for?

Lord Elrond crossed back to the window, briefly resuming his original pose. “Through the Ages, I have come to cherish those few I call friends,” he said. “Someone with whom to share wine and pleasant conversation, with whom to laugh and jest. Someone to listen when burdens overwhelm...” he trailed off, his gaze seeking mine once more. “And when one fights loneliness or aches to touch and be touched, seeking the company of a trusted friend is often the only recourse.”

Hanging my head, I closed my eyes in absolute shame. He knew! He knew I’d been witness to his intensely private moments with Erestor and Glorfindel. I was not called here to discuss my inattentiveness at all; I’d been summoned to atone for my impropriety! I should never have intruded; I should have backed away from Lord Elrond and his lovers each time, quietly excusing myself, but instead I’d stood rooted in place, observing their affectionate play with eager abandon. What apology could I possibly offer for such abhorrent behavior?

“Mel?”

“I beg your forgiveness, my lord,” I whispered, sinking to my knees. It was the only way I could think of to convey the depth of my regret.

A few seconds passed in which I listened to the rustle of robes. Lord Elrond was approaching, quickly. I heard him kneel, and then my chin was lifted, leaving me no choice but to comply to his silent bid: _look at me_. Unexpectedly, his gaze held nothing but genuine concern.

“Mel, you misunderstand.”

How could I possibly misunderstand?

Concern gave way to the slightest of smiles, making him look impossibly handsome. “You were meant to see what you did.”

I couldn’t even breathe, I was so shocked by his words. I stared, wide-eyed, until his smile grew into one so brilliant and warm that, without thinking, I reached out to touch his face. The gesture was welcomed; Lord Elrond covered my hand with his own. A tendril of doubt still tugged at my conscience, though. “A means of shaming your voyeur?” I asked. I had to know.

A playful glint shone in his eyes — the very same I’d seen directed at his lovers. “A means of enticement,” he explained in a whisper. “A taste of what could be between us.”

The moment was so profound, there simply were no words. So, I leaned in and kissed him, relieved beyond measure to feel him respond in kind. Thus began a passionate storm I couldn’t have imagined even in my dreams. I was pulled to my feet and pressed against the nearest wall, our lips still firmly engaged. His larger bulk held me in place for long minutes while we explored one another, until the urgency we both felt became too much to bear.

That’s when I discovered there was a door hidden behind the grand tapestry of his sire, Eärendil the Mariner, one that led straight into his private chambers. I caught only fleeting glimpses of the rare relics that decorated his space, for I was ushered into his bed chamber, undressed, and — quite literally —tossed onto the goose-down softness of his coverlet. I lay there, feeling rather wanton as I watched him remove each layer of clothing with exaggerated patience. And when he wore naught but his cheeky grin, he crawled atop me and kissed me properly all over again.

Wandering hands teased and tormented until I was a boneless puddle of flesh, the echo of my pleasure still coloring the air. With a soft chuckle, Elrond rolled me over. The sure hands of a healer proceeded to rub every inch of skin he could reach with long, gentle strokes, further easing me towards reverie. When he lifted my hips, I didn’t resist. Indeed, I used what strength I had left to ready myself for him. I was pure; he must have known. I braced myself against the headboard while he prepared me, but he never once rushed, despite the great need he must have felt. By the time he pressed inside of me, igniting that exquisite ache of pain and pleasure entwined, I was quivering with anticipation.

Together, we moved as one... a single harsh, shaky breath, a single heartbeat. Even in the midst of his excitement, he still sought to arouse me, tweaking and tickling until I hovered on the verge of ecstasy once more. There I waited, muscles burning from the effort, until I felt his rhythm hitch, felt him lurch forward and groan into my ear, before letting myself go. We collapsed, still molded together, and Elrond rolled us onto our sides.

I found it remarkably touching, how he peppered me with tiny, leisurely kisses in the minutes that followed. My neck, my face... my hands and fingers... a considerate lover, to be sure. It was in those moments, and in the hours that followed, that I truly realized how deeply Lord Elrond needed his friends. The weight of Middle-earth could be seen in his eyes, but only in the most unguarded of moments. And when he turned to stare out the window, still lazily stroking one of my nipples, I knew he was thinking of his beloved wife. The strain of their parting was evident in the inscrutable mask he wore, as though he were trying overly hard to make the rest of the world — and possibly himself — believe all was well.

I was honored by his trust. And I vowed to be there for him always, however he needed me.

At long last, I unwrapped myself from his embrace and padded to the privy. After cleaning myself and taming the mess that had become my hair, I reentered the bed chamber and began to dress. I felt his stare, a curious heaviness.

“Leaving so soon?”

I smiled. The long shadows of late afternoon were already creeping across the floor. We’d dallied here a good portion of the day.

Crossing to the bed, I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I have work I really must complete,” I explained.

The playful glint in his eyes was back. “Erestor will be pleased.”

My brows rose. Once I’d discovered the real reason for my summons, I’d assumed he wasn’t even aware of my difficulties in the library. “My lord?”

“’Twas his idea for me to approach you today as I did. He was afraid Lothlórien’s lore master would have to wait into the next century for his spare copy of Gil-Galad’s _Treatise_.”

I laughed so hard at that, that I fell forward across his chest. Lord Elrond’s fingers carded through my hair as he, too, enjoyed the mirth. But then he calmed, and the atmosphere turned pensive. When I glanced at him, he cradled my face in his hands.

“I would very much enjoy having someone to hold this night,” he said. “Will you return to me?”

I could tell he meant his words quite literally. _Someone to hold_... The loneliness in his expression was suddenly so apparent that it made my heart clench. “Of course,” I whispered, offering him another kiss, this time on his lips. I left him staring out the window once again, already far removed from the passion we’d shared.

My journey back to the library was swift, renewed enthusiasm lightening my steps. The emptiness of the cavernous chamber didn’t bother me at all. Most who worked here vacated the premises before last meal, so as to spend time with their families and friends. The evening lanterns were lit, though, bathing the stacks of tomes and scrolls in a soft light for any who might wander in looking for something to read.

I crossed to the back of the room and out into the small but separate wing where the scriptoria were housed. Grabbing a few tall candle stands from a closet, I made for the farthest one. I slowed as I approached, stunned at the delicate white chain that had been placed across the open doorway, effectively telling all others that this particular scriptorium was to be left alone. And inside, next to my scribe’s stand, a lone candle burned, the shortness of its length indicating it had been burning for some time.

The symbolism was astounding. There were only two reasons a lit candle would be left next to the empty stand of a scribe: a sign of mourning for one who had passed from this world... or a sign of greeting when one was returning home. As I was still very much alive, Erestor’s message to me was brilliantly clear.

Acceptance. Respect. A quiet welcome to the inner fold.

Blinking away the mist in my eyes, I used that candle to light the other two I carried with me. After placing them around my stand, I set to work, ignoring the painful protest of my backside. It took four full candle marks for me to complete the final six pages of the _Treatise_ , including the intricate illustration that decorated the last one. While they dried, I stole to the kitchens for a quick bowl of soup. Inspiration struck once I’d finished eating, and I found myself searching through the larders until I’d found one of the delicate pastries I knew Erestor favored. I promptly topped it with an extra dash of ground cinnamon and a small sprig of mint.

The finished, ready-to-be-bound pages of Gil-Galad’s text were carefully placed on Erestor’s desk, and atop those I set the plate with his treat. That, in turn, was covered by the delicate napkin I’d pilfered... and finally, resting atop the napkin, I placed a small bloom of Elanor, whose symbolism was universally known throughout Middle-earth.

Gratitude.

Smiling, I backed away, knowing Imladris’s lore master was more than apt to check his beloved library at all times of day or night. His treat would most likely not sit alone for long. I turned and left then, making sure I’d doused all the candles and cleaned up my space.

A warm bed awaited me.

~ * ~ finis ~ * ~

**Author's Note:**

>  **Sindarin**  
>  Laer = summer


End file.
